


break the skin (taste my blood)

by Larrant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, basically i am shipper trash and this is just an excuse to write more hux/kylo, i'll add more tags when they become appropriate?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in a world where Kylo Ren does not and has never existed, Snoke's acquisition of Ben Solo does not come through anything as kind as corruption or seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	break the skin (taste my blood)

**Author's Note:**

> so here we go idfk. zoz. forgive it if its shit, it hasn't been beta-read and i generally write stuff and then post it without reading over it twice ahahahaha /o\

 

**Ben**

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's meant to be a routine mission, when he's captured.

 

A routine mission, which turns out to be an ambush- and when they have been lured in without support and not enough men, they are trapped, trapped in now what is virtually enemy territory without backup to speak of.

 

There are too many of them, they can't defeat this many, not alone, they know that- so he tells Dameron to get everyone else away, that he'll cover them while they do. He does good on his word, he does more than good- he makes sure _all_ of them get away. Even if that means he's suddenly left alone in what is by any and all means now enemy territory. Even if it means that in a break of concentration they rupture his fuel cells and he barely manages to stop the ship from exploding before he's falling crashing _suffocating_ \- pulled towards the gravity of the closest planet.

 

The last thing he's certain of, the last coherent sight he sees- it's the helmet of the stormtrooper who drags him from the wreckage of the shuttle, the briefest glimpse of the twin suns overhead, and then the slam of a rifle butt to the head. And then... then nothing, because everything finally, finally gives way to blessed darkness.

 

It would have been better had that been the end of it- but when he wakes up again, he knows he isn't dead, not by a long, long shot. He wakes several times in fact, during the journey. That's how he picks up that it must be over the course of a few days that they transport him- that they're transporting him anywhere at all.

 

It's never more than a few seconds every time, for as soon as he stirs, the drug still heavy in his veins and eyes straining open to see the light, there is another rough hand on his arm, dragging him up, a dull pain in his arm and another forced dose flooding into his bloodstream- and within moments he has fallen back to darkness, with barely the time to wonder- _where am I_.

 

When he wakes- properly, that is- it is to darkness as well.

 

His brain feels fuzzy, strange, and he regains his consciousness in pieces and parts, realizing as he does that he is lying on some sort of cold metal floor. His gaze feels too unfocused to try and make anything else out.

 

There is something missing.

 

But try as he might, he can't think clearly enough to figure out what it is. It feels like everything is fuzzy, muddled- like everything he's seeing, thinking, has gone through some grimy dust filled filter.

 

It's cold, he thinks, the first coherent thought that occurs- everything else is too far away to yet try to think of (he wants to put off thinking about it for as long as possible). His mouth is dry and gritty and his tongue is like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. But he doesn't so much notice it as much as acknowledge it. He tries to lick his lips, and tastes nothing but salt.

 

He doesn't think he has the strength to do anything, but still when he feels like the pounding in his head can be through through, he tries to get up- only for his arms to buckle and for him to fall back down to the ground again- and then he's gritting his teeth shuddering because suddenly with the motion everything is flashing and swaying around him- the dull ache in the back of his head turns into a blinding flash of agony and he should probably have expected that but curls up on himself anyway on instinct, tries to stop the dizziness and pain because it is all too much and he can't focus he can't concentrate he can't **think-**

 

The silence returns slowly, the jagged, choked gasps that sound too loud in the still air dwindling into soft breaths as the minutes tick past- or are they hours, without a clock he cannot tell- until he is calm again, until the world has stopped spinning and his head has stopped hurting so much.

 

But he thinks that if he moves at all again now, it will come back. He isn't willing to test that idea, so he just stays where he is, curled on the ground.

 

The weight around his neck is something he only notices when his breathing has tapered into slow shallowness, but even then he is too exhausted to move, to figure out what it is that's locked around it. He doesn't want to move to see- everything still feels dizzy.

 

He closes his eyes instead, and falls back all too quickly into a restless sleep.

 

_Someone is calling. Someone is calling. There, in the distance, on the horizon, in the distant sunset- a figure, waving. At him._

 

_He thinks he knows who it is but he can't tell for sure, and even though their voice is so clear it is still indistinguishable. He thinks they are calling him. He takes a step forwards, and then another, and then it is a sudden desperation taking hold- he needs to get to them, he doesn't know why or how but he needs to reach them- and then he wants to run but he's stuck in place, the darkness suddenly rooting him to the spot as soon as he realizes it does._

 

_-when did it get so dark?_

 

_The figure is still waving, as if it does not understand what is wrong, as if nothing has happened, but he cannot run to them._

 

_Do they not see? He wonders, desperate. Do they not see that he cannot move. But he knows that they do not._

 

_Help me- he wants to shout, but something has rendered him mute- he cannot say anything even if he wants to, and the darkness is like steel, binding him down- he struggles, he struggles- he wants to scream, wants to cry out, but then there is nothing but the darkness anymore, dragging him down, enveloping him, and when he opens his mouth to breath it fills his mouth choking and filthy and painful-_

_-he thinks he drowns._

 

He does not wake with a gasp. He wakes with his eyes snapping open and with a hitch of breath that sticks in his throat, but there is no movement, only the jolt of wakefulness and then nothing. The fast beat of his heart is already calmed. It takes a moment for him to convince himself of reality, and a moment after that to begin to comprehend his surroundings. He's too used to having nightmares, too used to immediately pushing them out of his memory.

 

It seems whatever drug they gave him must have worn off a little, for it takes a moment but he manages to sit himself up- and even though the ache in his head increases, it is not enough to cripple him.

 

His eyes have grown used to the darkness- enough that even though he still can't see anything, he can make out faint shapes in the dark. He thinks he must be in a cell, but he can sense nothing behind that. He can sense nothing beyond the walls. Hesitation, a strike of abrupt fear. _What if_.

 

Uncertain, he tries to reach out, searching for a connection through the Force. And he realizes he can't feel them- no, he can't feel _anyone_ \- the training bond with his uncle, the maternal bond with his mother. It's not that they've shut him off, it's like they're not there at all. His eyes flutter shut, a sliver of urgent concentration reinforcing itself as he calls out through the Force- only for nothing to echo back. He reaches, he reaches but there is nothing but emptiness. There is not even a broken sense of a bond, there's nothing there, like it's just... gone. He can't feel anything beyond this room, this _cage_.

 

An energy cage? Built into the walls of the cell, it seems. But he's only ever heard of them in myths and tales, hadn't realized they were real until now.

 

It's funny how he can still try to think rationally, when all that's left in him is building panic.

 

His eyes shut, feigning calm, trying to ignore this reality- even if there is little difference in whether his eyes are opened or closed in the dark. The roiling wave of anxiety that threatens to overwhelm is pushed down, compressed until it is inconsequential- he has never been good with letting his emotions flow into the Force, and so he can only press them down instead, lock them away and systematically push them behind closed doors until it is as if they don't exist.

 

It works. To an extent. He doesn't think he can manage meditation.

 

He wonders where the others are, if they are safe. He thinks he had felt it through the force before he'd been shot down- a feeling of enveloping relief, and he tries to take comfort in that small fact. Why they hadn't killed him, he has no idea- weren't Jedi the most hated of the Remnant's enemies? But whatever the reason they had left him alive, he tries not to think on the fact that it must be some worse fate than death.

 

It occurs to him then, a distraction to his dark thoughts, that the weight on his neck is still there, and with slow fingers he reaches up a hand to touch it- cold metal, wrapped around his throat. A stun collar? It seems like it.

 

His fingers tighten.

 

Vaguely, he thinks he feels sick.

 

**Author's Note:**

> welp, er, comment, flame, anything? =D kudos? idk. \o/. my writing is shit but o h w e l l. don't mind my undercaffeination its 12 and i woke up 30 minutes ago without coffee :(  
> also i was a little bit stoned yesterday when i wrote the majority of this, so er. 4give this one.
> 
> tumblr: kyushoku.tumblr.com


End file.
